


The Fire of Life

by stellarose



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Minor Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Poor Maedhros, Spoilers for The Silmarillion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6203428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarose/pseuds/stellarose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill-the-gaps story. Fingon has rescued Maedhros from Thangorodrim, but the life of Maedhros still hangs in the balance. In time, Maedhros begins to heal, but scars go deeper than those seen from the outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to the Tolkien estate. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated. 
> 
> "There Maedhros in time was healed; for the fire of life was hot within him, and his strength was of the ancient world, such as those possessed who were nurtured in Valinor."
> 
> After the capture of Maedhros by Melkor, and his subsequent daring rescue by Fingon thirty years later, Tolkien sets himself up for a great hurt-comfort piece - and pretty much all we get it the above, and one more sentence. Maedhros and Fingon need more time than that, so here goes...

Fingon cradled Maedhros in his lap, his arms wrapped around his cousin's too-thin body, as Thorondor, King of the Eagles, carried them back to Mithrim. Fingon looked ahead, though there was little he could see, as cloud hid the world below. He dared not to look down at Maedhros, fearing what would see. Fingon had wrapped Maedhros tightly in his cloak, the hood pulled up of Maedhros's face, and his feet hanging out below. His body had felt so cold when Fingon had cut him down from the side of the cliff. Still, cloaked, on the back of the eagle, and in the arms of Fingon, Maedhros felt cold. Fingon did not know if he could feel Maedhros breathing. It was all too likely just to be the movement of the great eagle below them that tricked Fingon into believing that it was in fact Maedhros's body moving. Fingon could not look down. He could not be too late.

Maedhros had not made a sound since begging Fingon to take his life the second time, save for a guttural groan when Fingon was forced to cut off Maedhros's right hand in order to free him from his bonds. Maedhros had not cried out when Fingon lifted him down, or when his shoulder popped and snapped as Fingon forced his arm down, despite the sound having made Fingon wish he could be sick. Nor had Maedhros sighed nor screamed nor wept nor spoken since. The silence frightened Fingon more than he dare admit. As much as the stillness and the cold, if not more. He wanted more than anything to hear Maedhros speak, to say something, anything.

"We are getting close," Fingon said to no one in particular. Thorondor knew how far off they were, and Fingon could guess as much, despite the cloud cover. He recognised the tops of the mountains rising above the clouds to his right. Maedhros was not conscious enough to care. Speaking out loud offered Fingon some small comfort, as the sound of wind and the occasional flap of the eagle's wings was becoming unnerving. Everything felt at once too loud and too quiet, but hearing the sound of his own voice Fingon could take measure, and remind himself of what was real.

As gently as he could, Fingon slightly repositioned Maedhros's limp body. Fingon adjusted his grasp. Though much lighter than he ever should be, Maedhros was becoming heavy in his arms.

Thorondor screeched as he banked and straightened, the sound sending shivers down Fingon's spine. He had to do something, else he should go mad, with naught but cloud below, the endless expanse of sky above, and Maedhros's cold, still body in his arms. Fingon did the one thing he thought might help. He began to sing.

His words were lost in the wind as soon as they came from his mouth, but they forced Fingon to regulate his breathing. It forced him to breath at all, an action he realised he had been neglecting. Fingon forced out the words of an old tune from Valinor, hoping against hope that Maedhros would join him in song. Maedhros stayed silent and still.

Thorondor screeched again and began to descend. They passed through the clouds, the droplets leaving Fingon's hair and clothing damp. He felt cold. Maedhros felt colder still. Fingon doubted he was alive. His heart sunk as the earth appeared below the clouds.

Out in front, Lake Mithrim loomed, with light from the two elvish colonies on either side of it's shores glowing like beacons as the evening settled around. The quick descent was making Fingon's head spin. He closed his eyes for a moment and held onto Maedhros. Any moment now they would touch down. The air was becoming warmer and thicker and smelt of grass and soil.

Fingon opened his eyes. They were quickly approaching the southern colony, that of the Feanorian's; the kin of Maedhros. Fingon knew that here he would likely face hostility. He had consulted no one about his mission, and had been gone for thirty years, returning with the broken body of the King of the Noldor. Perhaps that was all he was returning with. Maedhros felt so cold. In his morbid thoughts, Fingon supposed that the spirit of Maedhros was already in the Halls of Mandos.

Thorondor landed on the outskirts of the Feanorion township, south of Lake Mithrim. Fingon stumbled from the eagle's back, fighting with every muscle in his body to hold on for just one minute more. They had made it. He had found Maedhros. He had brought him home. There was grass beneath his feet. Fingon stumbled to his knees, the body of Maedhros being too hard to hold up whilst standing.

Fingon tried to call out for aid, but his voice cracked and no sound came out. Kneeling on the grass, still cradling Maedhros's bloodied and broken body, Fingon closed his eyes and tried to find one more ounce of strength. The grass under his knees felt cool and the ground soft. A cool wind rustled the leaves of nearby tress, and kissed and Fingon's cheeks, and the smell of herbs floated through the air, mixed with the faint smell of the stables. And blood. The blood of Maedhros.

Fingon took a deep breath. "Help me!" he called, his eyes welling with tears, "Somebody, help! I - I found Maedhros! Please, someone help me, please…"

But Fingon had needed not to cry out. Many had seen the Thorondor approach, and now the great bird departed, revealing half a dozen elves hurrying down to the place where he had landed.

"Who goes there?" It was the first voice other than Maedhros begging for death some hours before that Fingon had heard for thirty years.

"It is Fingon son of Fingolfin. I have Maedhros Feanorion. Please," Fingon swallowed, "Please, he's…" Fingon could not finish the sentence. He still could not bring himself to look at Maedhros. He did not know if he could carry on if Maedhros was not alive.

"Maedhros?" It was Maglor, brother of Maedhros, and the closest of his kin. "Maedhros!" Maglor raced forward and fell to his knees beside Maedhros, pushing back the hood of Fingon's cloak which masked Maedhros's face. Fingon forced himself to look at Maglor. "What - how did - what…?"

"He needs help," Fingon choked out the words, looking at the faces of the others, hoping that someone, anyone, could help. Surely there was a healer amongst them. Fingon wanted for someone else to take charge. Someone else to give orders. "Please…"

"You," Caranthir said, one of the younger sons of Feanor. He looked up at Fingon, his eyes filled with tears, but his face showing anger, "What have you done to him?" Caranthir cried, "What have you done?"

"Caranthir peace!" Maglor cried, holding up a hand to stop his brother, "Maedhros is returned, and yes, by Fingon's doing. Come, let us save our brother. Questions will wait." Maglor stood up, and ordered the largest among the group to lift Maedhros gently from Fingon's arms. Fingon slumped forward, and he knelt upon his haunches, starring at the ground, as the group hurried away with Maedhros's lifeless body, Maglor shouting desperate orders.

Fingon closed his eyes. So Maedhros was still alive. Maglor would not have acted in such a panic had his brother not survived the journey. Fingon longed to stay by the side of Maedhros, but knew that Maedhros's life was no longer in his hands. He opened his eyes and lifted his head to the skies. The sun had now disappeared below the horizon, the breeze had pushed away some of the cloud, and stars appeared in the heavens above. They were beautiful. Fingon brushed his hair from his face, and allowed his eyes to feast on the starlight.

The wind grew cooler as the night turned dark, and Fingon, stiff from kneeling, and many years of hard toil, eventually forced himself to his feet. Now the mortal desires of food and sleep occupied his mind, as even elven kind require these, and it had been many long years since Fingon had eaten a proper meal or slept soundly.

Slowly, he followed in the footsteps of Maglor and the others of the house of Feanor to their halls, wondering what hospitality he would find within. He could just leave, of course. After all he had endured, the walk around Lake Mithrim to the halls of his father on the other side would be nothing. But Fingon could not leave Maedhros. He had fought too hard and too long to find and save him. No, Fingon would not abandon Maedhros now.


	2. Chapter 2

"What did you do to him!?"

Fingon awoke with a fright as the door to the room which he had been allotted was violently flung open. Celegorm stormed in and marched across the room to the bed, his hand hovering above his knife. Were all the brothers of Maedhros show him such hostility?

"Celegorm, stand down," Maglor ordered, running after him, Curufin close behind.

"He would see him dead! He would see our brother dead!" Celegorm yelled, just steps away from the bed. Fingon sprang from the blankets, and flattened himself against the wall, his mind still shrouded by the mists of sleep.

"Celegorm, brother, Fingon found him. He saved Maedhros," Maglor said, grabbing Celegorm by the arm.

"Let me go," Celegorm yelled, pulling away from Maglor, "I will cut off both his hands! He would harm our brother."

"Enough," Maglor yelled, and grabbed Celegorm by one arm, Curufin grabbing him by the other. "That is enough. Curufin, see that our brother is taken from here, and talk some sense into him."

"Yes. Come brother," Curufin said. Celegorm allowed himself to be unceremoniously dragged from the bedroom.

"Step down from there," Maglor said, folding back his sleeves, "You look ridiculous."

Still only half awake, Fingon stumbled down from the bed. He straightened up his clothing and pushed back his hair. The room was lit with the dim grey light that preceded dawn. Fingon had slept some hours, yet felt little rested. His heart felt heavy. "I - ," he swallowed, not sure where to begin.

"You found him," Maglor said, his voice tight. He looked tired. "For thirty years you searched. You never gave up. We mourned him and tried to move on. And all that time you searched." Maglor exhaled slightly, then lifted his chin, "Do not expect thanks from the guilty."

Fingon went to respond, before realising he had not the words.

"The night has been long," Maglor said.

Fingon nodded. "He, Maedhros, he's still…"

"Alive? Barely, but yes. Some may say it would be kinder if he were not."

Fingon felt a shiver run down his back. "Can I see him?"

"Not yet," Maglor said, with a look about him of one who had seen undreamt horrors in the very recent past. "The Healers are doing what they can. Celegorm barged in. He should not have seen. He should not have come here either. That was out of order. I shall speak with him."

Fingon nodded, not sure what else to do with himself. He felt underdressed and thoroughly out of place.

"We should have made you more welcome, too," Maglor continued.

"It's - I understand."

"I shall have you brought breakfast," Maglor said, turning on his heel, "And something to wear."

"Thank-you," Fingon said.

Maglor stopped. "For what?" he scoffed, still looking towards the door. "All we have done is berate and abuse you, when you come returning to us our brother. Give us no thanks, nor make no apologies." He shrugged, unable to look at Fingon, "Go to Maedhros if you wish. Wait until the Healers are done. None shall bar your way. You are free here."

Fingon watched as Maglor swept out of the door, his robes flowing behind him. Fingon already have to live for eternity with the image of Maedhros hanging from the cliff-face in his mind, he did not need another of his friend being stitched back together by Healers. The thought of it alone was enough to make him feel ill in the stomach. Fingon swallowed, and wondered if he would be able to keep any breakfast down. He climbed back into bed, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. The blankets were still warm, and Fingon pulled them up to his chin, knowing not what to do.

To his surprise, Fingon found himself waking some hours later. The height if the sun told him it must be near to midday. He pushed back the blankets and swung his legs out of the bed. A gown hung on the back of the door and a plate of food sat on the table beside the window. Fingon climbed out of bed and dressed, wrapping the gown around himself. He sat down and began to pick at the meal of soft cheese, dried fruits and buttery biscuits. Having cleared the plate, Fingon paced the room. Part of him longed to see Maedhros in whatever condition, but another part, a wiser part, knew that it would be foolish to see Maedhros is any state before the Healers had done with him what they could. But many hours had past since Maglor had been here before the dawn, and if the Healer's were not done by now, it would be unlikely they ever would be. Fingon sat on the bed and waited.

Maglor appeared some hours later. He raised an eyebrow, "I thought you would have come by now."

Fingon looked up, "Forgive me," he said, "I am not quite myself."

Maglor exhaled loudly through his nose. "Alas," he said. "For what it is worth, know that the Healers are long since done."

Fingon nodded. "I - I cannot shake the image from my mind…"

"Then see him now," Maglor said, not wishing to have to comfort Fingon any more than completely necessary, "See him now, clean and bandaged and sleeping deeply. Find peace in that."

"He is asleep?"

"The Healers have made it so," Maglor said, "He will sleep for some days."

Fingon nodded.

Maglor shrugged. "Stay here. See him. I care not," he said, and left Fingon alone.

Fingon looked in the wardrobe and found a pair of inside shoes. He slipped them on, and opened his bedroom door, looking out into the corridor. It now occurred to him that he did not know the whereabouts of the room of Maedhros. He began to wander up a staircase, hoping not to look too lost should anyone come upon him, and hoping that, by chance, he should find Maedhros.

"Come with me," Curufin said, finding Fingon wandering.

"I - ,"

"Have no idea where you are headed," Curufin said and forced a small smile. "Come."

Fingon followed and stopped when Curufin stopped outside a door.

"Maedhros lies within," Curufin said, "He is alone. You are free to come and go as you please."

Fingon nodded and Curufin disappeared down the hallway, no doubt to report to Maglor. Fingon stood outside the door to the bedroom for some time, unable to bring himself to enter. He knew that Maedhros was alone, that the room was deserted, that there would be no one there to see him should he cry. And yet he hesitated. For once he saw Maedhros, there was no going back. There was no pretending it was not real, no pretending that his friend was not sitting up in bed, laughing and singing. No pretending that Maedhros was whole.

Fingon took a deep breath and placed his hand on the door handle. All he had to do was push it down and enter. Maedhros was unconscious. Fingon pulled himself together and pushed the door open just wide enough to enter, before closing it behind himself. The afternoon light filtered into the bedroom, and Fingon saw the emaciated body of Maedhros lying lifeless upon the bed. Fingon felt his eyes burn with tears.

"Oh, my friend," Fingon said, slowly approaching the bed, afraid that any sudden movements might cause harm to Maedhros in his delicate state.

Maedhros lay in the middle of the bed, gaunt and deathly pale. He looked so small. Maedhros the Tall. Fingon stood to the side of the bed on Maedhros's left, looking down at his friend. There was little to see, as blankets covered him up to his chin. Fingon reached out and gently touched Maedhros's cheek. He was freezing.

"Please forgive me."

Unsure of what to do with himself, Fingon leant over the bed, gently placed his hand on Maedhros's heart. His heart rate was irregular, and too fast. His breathing too was rapid and shallow and broken. And all this was felt over the blankets and bandages that no doubt covered his friend's body. Fingon put his hands over his mouth, forcing himself not to cry. Maglor was right. Maedhros was barely alive. It was almost as though his body had forgotten how to be alive. It was so deep in survival mode, he had forgotten how to live.

Fingon took a deep breath, and forced himself to stay calm. He regulated his own heartbeat, his own breathing. He did not need to see the bandages which covered Maedhros from neck to toes, nor hear now of the injuries which had been inflicted upon his friend. Fingon could not bear it today. Maglor's face earlier had told him enough. Nowhere had they not hurt. Nowhere had they left unscarred. Nowhere had they not violated. Fingon felt as though he could have taken on a whole battalion of orcs, and slaughtered the lot. Fingon forced himself to find peaceful thoughts, for Maedhros's sake. Wind rustling autumn leaves. Starlight on a crisp, clear night. Gentle breezes swaying spring blooms. Maedhros, safe in his arms.

"Forgive me, friend," he said purposefully, as though Maedhros could hear him. Fingon spotted a chair at the table by the window and pulled it over to the bedside. "I will stay with you. I will not leave you now. You will not do this alone."


	4. Chapter 4

Maedhros could feel everything and nothing. He burnt and froze, and could not say for certain if his dreams of his father and the Halls of Mandos were real. But now his body felt heavy and ached with such intensity that he felt ill. Maedhros could smell grass and trees, and the faint smell of bread baking drifted in from somewhere in the vicinity. He could hear birds and a horse whinnied. Someone nearby was breathing. He was not alone.

Maedhros tried to open his eyes, but they proved too heavy. He tried to sit up, to move, but his body would not obey. He lay in the darkness a little while longer. Only the darkness he now endured with his eyes shut was not one of horror and evils, but one of protection and safety. The world here felt safer, wherever here was. He did not know how to explain it, he just knew. Maedhros took as deep a breath as he could muster and forced open his eyes.

The sudden light made him blink several times as his eyes adjusted. He again tried to sit, but his body would not obey. He opened his mouth, or at least felt as though he did, but no sound came out. Maedhros forced himself not to panic. He was somewhere safe. He knew that he knew this place, if only he could bring his eyes to focus. He again tried to speak, and his voice cracked.

"Maedhros?"

Within a moment, Fingon was sitting upon the bed beside him, and took Maedhros's left hand, holding it tightly in his own.

"You are awake," Fingon said. Maedhros forced his eyes to focus. It had been many years since he had last seen his kinsman, and much had come between their peoples, most of it proving to be for the worse. And yet here Fingon now sat, his eyes welling with tears of hope and relief at Maedhros's awakening. Maedhros again tried to speak, and again no noise came out.

"Rest," Fingon said, reaching out and gently pushing back Maedhros's hair from his forehead. "We shall have time aplenty in which to talk. For now, just rest."

"What…?" Maedhros croaked, his voice hoarse and faltering.

"Shh, save your strength."

"No…" Maedhros croaked. He was determined for answers. There was much he did not understand. "What…?"

"Do you not recall?" Fingon asked, "Upon Thangorodrim? I found you, and you - Thorondor came, Maedhros. Do you recall the King of the Eagles?"

Maedhros tried to give a nod as the memories came rushing back, threatening to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes for a moment, and opened them again to see once more Fingon's fair face looking down at him. Fingon had found him. Out of all the Eldar in Middle-Earth, it had been Fingon. "D - ," Maedhros tried again to speak, but the words stuck in his throat.

"Here," Fingon said. He let go of Maedhros's hand and stood up. Beside the bed sat a jug and goblets. Maedhros followed Fingon with his eyes to watch as Fingon poured the clear water from the jug into one of the goblets. Then with lightness of touch, Fingon placed his hand behind Maedhros's head and tilted it up, and put the goblet to his lips with the other. Maedhros drank greedily, although he seemed to dribble as much of the water down his chin as he managed to swallow. Fingon put down the goblet and took a towel, gently wiping Maedhros's face. Maedhros could feel the water surging down inside of him, like heavy rain over an arid landscape. He looked again at Fingon.

"D - did you know…" he words sounded distant and peculiar, almost as though they belonged to another.

"About?" Fingon asked.

"Did you - know…" Maedhros tried. His chest hurt and his limbs throbbed and his head pounded. "A-about…"

"Sleep now," Fingon said, and gave a kind smile.

"But - but did you know?" Maedhros asked again, his words slurred, and his eyelids heavy.

"Speech pains you still. Sleep, and worry yourself not. Here you are safe."

Maedhros tried again to ask, but this time no word came at all. Maedhros closed his eyes. In his dreams, he heard Fingon singing.

~

As soon as he was sure that Maedhros was asleep, Fingon left his kinsman's bedside and sought out Maglor. Fingon had forced himself to smile for his friend, to keep a lightness to his voice, to stop the sorrow and pity overwhelming him. It had been close to a week since Fingon had returned with Maedhros to Mithrim, and Maedhros looked little improved, still gaunt and grey, with dark rims under his eyes. But he had awoken. Surely now that must change things.

"Maedhros awoke," Maglor said, writing as usual in his chamber.

"How did you know?" Fingon asked.

"You've not left his side for days," Maglor replied. "You would not have come unless he awoke. How is he?"

"He was drowsy and confused, and I believe in great pain. He spoke little, but he drank some."

"Good," Maglor said, avoiding Fingon's eye, "I am glad he was not alone. He shall begin to wake more often now."

"I know," Fingon said. He shook his head, as though it might remove the visions he could see but too clearly with waking eyes. "But I do not know if it was right. He is so hurt."

"You did the only thing you could live with," Maglor said, "You alone have to live with yourself. With your actions, your decisions, your history. You alone must decide what you can and cannot carry. You went after him. You saved his life. You brought him back. Yes, you were forced to injure him, but your options were extremely limited. He will recover. He will live. We know that now. You did that. You saved him."

Fingon knew that Maglor spoke the truth, only his words were of cold comfort. Fingon felt little like a hero or saviour. He could hear Maedhros begging him to take his life, to end his suffering. Fingon felt only as though he had left Maedhros down.

"What?" Maglor asked.

"Pardon?"

"Something is on your mind," Maglor said, "What did Maedhros say?"

Fingon swallowed. "Just now?"

"When else?" Maglor said, losing patience.

"He kept asking me if I knew. I know not what he meant. I know it easily could be dismissed as the chatter of one in such anguish, only,"

"I do," Maglor sighed, "I know of what he meant. What did you say to him?"

"I told him to rest," Fingon said, "Has something occurred? Something of which I should know?"

Maglor stood up, walked over to the window and gazed out across the lake. Anything to not have to face Fingon. "When our host arrived upon the shores of Middle-Earth, Maedhros alone spoke of the boats returning to collect the host of your father. He did not wish to leave you. Debate between the our father and my brother was heated to say the least. Our father refused, and Maedhros conceded unhappy defeat. He took no part in the burning of the ships, and did not allow himself to be seen anywhere near the bay until all was done."

Fingon was silent for some moments. So they had not been entirely forgotten. Fingon understood the position Maedhros had been in. He could not disobey his father and King.

"I believe he would have captained the ships back to Araman himself, had our father consented of it," Maglor said, continuing to look out of the window.

"I did not know," Fingon breathed, "I did not know…"

"Maedhros likely believes it to be the reason you came for him."

"But it is not the reason. I came for our friendship is old, and what love we held was enough to have me seek him out. I must go to my father. I must tell him of what has happened."

Maglor turned. "Go," he said, "I shall watch over Maedhros."

"I shall return," Fingon said, a new light glowing inside of him as he hurried from the Halls of the sons of Feanor.

~

Maglor leant against the end of the bed. Maedhros's breathing changed as he slowly awoke, and Maglor felt his brother's pain as Maedhros opened his eyes with much effort. It hurt Maglor to see his brother in such condition at all. "Fingon did not know," Maglor stated, as Maedhros forced his eyes to focus upon his brother, "About the ships, and you challenging father. He did not know."

"But?" Maedhros croaked.

"He does now," Maglor said, and moved around to the side of the bed, "I told him as much myself. But he knew not when he sought you out. For that he took no counsel, and did entirely of his own will. Forgive me, and our brothers. We thought you lost to us. Fingon alone did not give up hope. His loyalty to you,"

"Stop," Maedhros whispered, his words slurred, "Of that I already know."

"I know," Maglor said.

A shadow of a smile flickered across Maedhros's face. "Where is he now?"

"He has gone to see his father. He has hardly left your side since he returned you to us. Fingolfin is thoughtful and fair. It has been some thirty years since he has seen his son. Of what has passed he deserves to know."

"Fingon set off at once?" Maedhros asked.

"After you awoke easier, and then he came too see me, yes," Maglor replied.

Maedhros closed his eyes. "I should have…fought father…"

"You know what it took for Morgoth to have father slain. Take peace in the knowledge that the Noldor are reunited in Middle-Earth once more. And your return by Fingon's doing has done more to heal old wounds between our people than anything else."


End file.
